


Not the Only One (Part 2)

by AgataVarano



Series: Scar [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Apologies, Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), Domestic Violence, Gen, Nightmares, Siblings, The Cloak of Levitation is Lara's pet and I take no criticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26083927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgataVarano/pseuds/AgataVarano
Summary: Families are still complicated, but not every relative is the absolute worse. For now.
Relationships: Original Female Character & Original Male Character, Stephen Strange & Original Character(s), Stephen Strange & Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers & Original Male Character(s)
Series: Scar [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1826437
Kudos: 2





	Not the Only One (Part 2)

**Author's Note:**

> • English is not my first language, so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes.  
> • You can find this and more fics on my Tumblr @/let-me-write-my-life and my Instagram @/agata_varano.

_ When they all come crashing down mid flight, you know you're not the only one. - Evanescence (The Only One) _

_ A heartbreaking cry fills his ears as his father presses his face harder against his chest. "I'm sorry, little one, I'm so sorry," he whispers between tears as he holds him, the two sitting on the bed. _

_ Jonathan hugs him tighter, trying in vain to silent his inconsolable parent before his mother hears him. He has always been taught crying is for the weak and he must never be weak, but it seems like no one ever told it to his father. _

_ The man finally parts from him and wipes away his tears before muttering a weak thank you to his son, who just smiles softly. _

_ Then they hear footsteps and Sandra, or how Jonathan used to call her, "Scylla", enters the room with rage written all over her face. "You're still crying over that baby!" She screams pointing her finger at her husband. "I'll give you a reason to cry," she mutters. _

_ She fiercely steps towards him and everyone in the room knows what is about to happen. Abraham is already feeling the taste of blood in his mouth, when Jonathan throws his arms forward to stop his mother. _

_ "It wasn't him, it was me!" _

_ The woman moves her deadly gaze from her husband to her son and, without a second thought, slaps him hard enough to make him fall with his side on the bed. He doesn't even have the time to sit up before another hit comes to his face, followed by countless ones. _

_ Abraham doesn't do anything, he just watches as the blankets are soaked in blood, his five-year-old son's blood. He is used to it. He's not strong enough to stop it. _

Jonathan jumps up in a sitting position on the iron table he was sleeping on, his breathing erratic and sweat pearls dripping down his forehead. After throwing a glance around him, he lays back down and lets out a deep breath, trying to calm down. He closes his eyes for a moment, but immediately opens them again: he can feel his heart beating in his head.

With a sigh he sits up, crossing his legs on the cold metal, and looks at the woman with mahogany coloured hair in the nearby cell. She's still sleeping tight, even though the light coming through the small windows makes him think it's already late in the morning.

He moves a hand through his hair and his mind runs to his father. Is he alright? Has his mother already killed him? _What you're feeling right now is your own conscience._ _"Yes, it is and it hurts, it f*cking hurts,"_ he thinks.

He leans the side of his head against the wall and gets lost in his thoughts for the hundredth time since he got arrested. Why does he feel so bad? It's not just the knowledge his father could die any minute and there would be no one to protect him, there's something else too.

Then he freezes as realization hits him like a truck. Is he… is he sad for his sister?  _ "No, I'm not. No, I'm not. No, I'm- Yes, yes, I am." _ He covers his face with his hands and collapses down on the bed in resignation. Yes, he is. He is sad. He is sorry. He is an idiot.  _ "Nothing I didn't already know." _

Footsteps down the hallway give him a sparkle of newfound hope. He rushes to the glass in front of the wall and looks right and left, searching the origin of those sounds. When his eyes meet the sight of Captain America accompanying a guy in a nearby cell, he sighs and steps back. 

_ "No, wait! He knows her!" _ He rushes back to the glass and notices the man is heading right in his direction. The perks of having your cell near the exit door...

"Hey Miss America!" Jonathan shouts, drawing not only Rogers' attention, but also that of a sleepy mugger covered in tattoos a few cells away from him.

Rogers sighs and stops, turning slowly towards him. "What do you want, Houghton?" He asks, clearly annoyed.

Jonathan leans with an arm on the glass. "I need you to do me a favour."

"And why should I?"

He smirks. "Because I'm not going to stop bothering you until you do." Rogers sighs again, this time louder, and is about to leave when Jonathan launches his arm forward as to stop him. "It's not hard, just please tell your brunette friend I need to talk with her."

The other one turns again to face him and eyes him annoyed. "Do you have a vague idea of how many brunettes there are?"

Jonathan sighs. "Come on, you know who I'm talking about!" No he doesn't. Apparently being clever isn't an important requirement to become a super soldier. "Fine," he says, "the one who head-butted me."

Without answering, Rogers turns around and heads to the door. Jonathan presses his face harder against the glass. "Is that a yes?" The door slams before he receives an answer.

Letting out a breath, he lays back on the metallic table and moves a hand over his face. All he can do is hope the patriotic guy has enough pity in his body full of steroids to help him. And yes, calling him Miss America was absolutely necessary and worth the risk to be ignored.

He doesn't know how much time has passed when he hears someone knocking on the glass. He immediately gets up, the woman he was waiting for standing there in front of him. "Hi," he mutters as he steps closer.

Lara adjusts her leather jacket before setting her eyes right on his face. "Let's end this thing quickly. What do you need?"

The coldness in her voice makes him feel even worse than before, like those little shards of glass you never seem to be able to take out of your skin after you've broken a window, but still hurt like all hell.

"I… I wanted to apologize for what happened yesterday…" he says, trying to steady his voice, but God... that lethal gaze has nothing to envy Sandra's. Maybe it's even worse. "You know, I may have been  _ a little _ too emotionally driven."

She breathes out a laugh but instantly sets her eyes back on him, her expression not changing in the slightest. "You literally blamed your father's depression on a newborn."

He stutters, trying to form a coherent thought. For a second he thinks he can even hear his neighbour muffling a laugh. "Okay, maybe I was  _ very _ emotionally driven, but… you have to understand me-"

"I understand you, I really do. I perfectly understand you were raised this way but… I can't, I can't ignore what your parents have done to me, what your organisation has done to me, what I've done for it," she interrupts him, her eyes still set on him. Yes, her gaze is way worse than Sandra's. She has pain written in her irises.

She takes a breath and goes on, her voice trembling. "If there's something I know, it's that not everyone deserves a second chance. Yet here I am. And… and you have no idea how dumb people think I am for still being here talking with you, but…"

_ "No please, please don't break my heart again." _

Lara sighs and looks down at the floor for a second, before her eyes meet his again and he can feel his heart shattering in a thousand pieces. "But sometimes it's easier trusting a scrap of paper written by a stranger than the person you've seen every day for years."

She crosses her arms, forcing Jonathan to fight the urge to apologise for everything, even the things he has never done. "So if you're trying in some sick and perverted way to make me join your… your bunch of terrorists, I'm sorry but you'll fail."

He tries to find the words to say what is going in his mind, parting his lips but saying nothing. Finally he sighs and focuses on her eyes, ignoring the pain in his chest. "And this is where you're wrong. I'm not trying to make you join anything."

Lara's curious look relieves his suffering a little bit. "You know," he continues, "my whole life I've been living as a barrier between my mother and my father. I… I was the only thing that could keep my mother from finally getting rid of her husband."

He crosses his arms tightly on his chest, as to protect himself from a kick coming his way. Maybe she is protecting herself from a kick too.

"So I stayed, I always stayed," he says. "And every single part of me knew teaching a ten-year-old child how to slit someone's throat is wrong in any way, that kicking a child in the face so many times to make him stronger is wrong, but… but I stayed."

He inches closer to the glass and notices the change in Lara's eyes. No more pain, no more sorrow, now there's only pity. "But now, it doesn't matter how many punches I've spared my father. I'll die anyway. Even if I say nothing, even if I cling onto those last pieces of loyalty left in me. If they find me, if  _ she _ finds me, I'll die, because blood ties don't matter when compared to power." As he says this last sentence, his voice shakes. His mother is way better at saying it.

He steps back and swallows heavily, knots in his throat and an ache in his chest. "You have every right to hate me, not to trust me, but if you ever need to know anything… I'll do my best to help you." He's done it. He's signed his death penalty, but he couldn't care less. He then whispers a few last words, a last stab in Lara's heart. "You deserve a second chance."

In that moment, Lara feels her heart shattering to pieces and her fingers getting cut as she tries to put them back together. She bites her bottom lip and tugs her jacket, then swallows heavily. "Thank you," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

A guitar riff starts playing from her phone, followed by a few lines sung by Corey Taylor. She looks down at the screen, fast to mute it while Jonathan stares curiously at her. "Sorry, my boss," she says with a hint of a smile, hoping Stephen won't hate her if she calls him later. "I have to go."

He nods, then stops her. "Wait!" She immediately turns to him and he smiles. "Even though it's kinda cool, I don't think I can go on asking Miss America to talk with the brunette who head-butted me."

She breathes out a laugh. "I'm Lara Johnson."

He leans with a forearm on the glass. "I'm Jonathan, but I think you already knew that."

For the next couple of weeks, Lara and Jonathan meet almost every day. At first their conversations are strictly about "work," but as time goes on the two begin to trust each other more and more. Sometimes Lara drops by his cell just to see how things are going. Even though being an almost Avenger's brother doesn't really bring him particular benefits, Jonathan isn't suffering her presence anymore.

This fact seems quite unbelievable to someone, as most of their conversations are still made of playful banter and sarcastic comments, but what were you expecting from two people whose first interaction was one choking the other?

After two months, Jonathan is offered conditional freedom as long as he wears a tracking device that also has an option to control his powers. Walking beside Lara as he leaves jail, he smirks and moves a finger around the button at the base of his neck. "Your friend Stark must love this shape for his devices."

Lara surpasses him and opens the door of her car, throwing her bag on the back seats. "Partially correct, but not completely. It was not Stark to make that toy of yours." As she plays with her keys, her gaze follows Jonathan around the car.

He crosses his arms on the roof and smirks. "And who made it, if I can ask?" He moves a hand through his hair. "Or is it another one of those questions I can't ask without getting kicked in the stomach?"

She smiles and turns to him, hair moving around her neck. "I'm only gonna kick you if you make jokes about my height." She turns to the car and then back to Jonathan. "Or if you say anything about me living on takeaway food."

Entering the car, Jonathan adjusts on his seat and places a foot on the airbag. "What's your answer then, sis?"

Lara huffs as she puts on the belt. "First of all," she says, counting with her fingers, "don't call me sis. Second of all, put down that foot before I cut it off your leg." She moves a stroke of hair behind her ear. "And last but not least, it was me."

Jonathan furrows his brows and slowly puts his foot down. "When the heck did you learn to make tracking devices?"

Lara adjusts the rearview mirror and turns on the car. "I've worked for a while at the Stark Industries and I now have a lot of free time." She turns to him and concludes. "And insomnia."

He nods and leans back, crossing his arms on his chest. "Good for you. Anyway, where are we going?" He looks out of the window and then back to Lara. "No wait, I know it. We're going to that place you live in with your friends cultists."

She smiles as she turns left and stops at the traffic light. "Exactly, but I wouldn't say it directly to them unless you want to be thrown into some very unpleasant dimension." She bites her bottom lip as an annoying rider cuts her way. "I'm speaking from experience."

When Jonathan steps out of the car, he looks puzzled at the Sanctum. "Hey sis, are you sure your friends won't sacrifice me to satan?"

Lara huffs as she exits the vehicle and heads to the door. "Plan B was leaving you to sleep on a bench at the train station. Furthermore," she adds, turning to him, "they're not satanists, just bastards."

As soon as she opens the door, Lara is welcomed by a rather excited Cloak of Levitation. Scratching its collar as if it were a dog, she tilts her head to the side and looks at her brother. "The Cloak of Levitation, also known as the only intelligent form of life here."

"You know I can hear you, right?" Stephen comments, arms crossed as he steps towards the two. He's wearing his full sorcerer attire, but Lara had never doubted he would use the occasion to show off.

She raises an eyebrow at him and smirks, her hand not leaving the relic. "Oh I hope so. It would be a shame to become deaf at your age." She then turns to her brother, who is busy studying the sorcerer. "Jonathan, this is Stephen." Her gaze moves back to the other man and she damns whoever decided to put her among so many tall people, condemning her neck to be constantly in pain. "Stephen, my brother Jonathan."

Stephen nods. "Nice to meet you," he mumbles, then he turns back to Lara. "I'll be meditating, don't let him set anything on fire."

The other man stares shocked at him. "I'm right here, you know?"

He doesn't flinch. "Unfortunately..."

And then everything falls to pieces.


End file.
